Mists of Velvet

by Sophie Renwick

  “Rowan,” he murmured, “let your mind go.”

  She tried to forget about how much she wanted him, how he felt holding her; it worked, too, but the minute she felt herself loosening up, the old fears came rushing back.

  “Shh,” he soothed as she whimpered. “I’m here.”

  Rowan felt his hands moving along her back till they made their way into her hair. He rubbed her scalp and pressed his mouth to her temple. The tip of his cock nudged against her jeans, and she almost melted at feeling him grow against her.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” she gasped as she felt his lips against her cheek.

  “Relaxing you.”

  Oh, God, her heart was beating too fast and she couldn’t catch her breath, and it was not because she was remembering, but because she wanted this. She wanted him.

  “Will you give me something?” he murmured. His deep voice sent tremors through her.

  Anything, she almost cried, but instead she nodded, slowly. A little unsure. Pressing her closer, he brushed his mouth against her ear. His breath was moist, hot, and it made her belly flip.

  “Give me your trust, Rowan. I would never, ever hurt you. I want only to take you somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  His palm slid down her back until his fingers rested low on the waistband of her jeans. “A place only for us.”

  Oh, God, was it possible he was thinking what she was thinking? Pulling away from her, he brought her down to the floor so that she lay on the satin. She was on her back, gazing up at him, her heart pounding and her blood rushing in her ears. “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you to do for a long time.” He smiled and brushed his hand along her shoulder.

  “To take this journey?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.”

  Instantly, Rowan’s enthusiasm deflated. He wasn’t here for what she foolishly thought—obviously. Because there was no way Keir had never done that before.

  “Oh,” she muttered, shifting her body on the robe. Evidently her idea of a mystical journey was a lot different than his.

  “You have powers, Rowan; I know you do. We just have to tap into them. You can’t get at them because of your fears, which are understandable, of course. But I believe we can access them together.”

  “If I do have powers, what do you want with them?”

  He looked startled. “Nothing.”

  “Then why bother?”

  “It will tell us about your past.”

  She shook her head. “The past is not happy, Keir. I don’t need powers to tell me that. Nor do I want to rehash a whole bunch of drama from my childhood.”

  “But you do know you’re not fully human?”

  “Suriel. Now you. What is it with you? What interests you about what I might or might not be?”

  His hands gripped hers, and he lowered himself to the carpet. His wide shoulders were between her knees, and Rowan had the mad urge to run her hands through his dark hair.

  “I am hoping there is something in your past that might change your future.” Rowan watched him swallow hard. He never blinked, keeping his gaze trained on her face. “I want to help you. I want to save you.”

  She couldn’t help herself any longer. She ran her fingers through his hair and marveled at how silky it felt. “I’m beyond saving. You know that.”

  “I don’t think so. I believe I know a way—through magick. Will you let me?”

  How could she refuse a face like that? With a quick nod, she accepted.

  Reaching for the quartz that hung around his neck, he lifted it and showed it to her. “This is a talisman. In meditation, you need something to hold on to. Use this—and I’ll always be able to find you, wherever you are.”

  “Why quartz?” she asked, smoothing her finger over the glossy surface.

  “Quartz is the gem that rules divination. It is a balancer between beauty and peace. When worn, it aligns mental, emotional, and astral bodies. When you wear this, and clear your mind, you can call upon me, and I can come to you.”

  “Do you mean like astral projection?”

  “Yes. But spiritually as well.”

  Rowan bent her head as Keir removed the necklace and placed it on her. The warm quartz nestled between her breasts, and Keir let his fingers linger over the stone. Holding her breath, she waited for him to touch her; to brush his fingertips over her breasts. But the touch never came.

  “Have you ever heard of scrying?”

  “No.”

  “Let me show you something.” With a wave of his hand, a mirror magically appeared before them, and he helped her up so that they stood before it. She gazed at them in the mirror’s reflection. He stood behind her, dwarfing her despite her voluptuous proportions. His arms snaked around her waist, and he pulled her back to him.

  “Scrying is a method of divination. One simply gazes at or into an object to still the conscious mind in order to contact the psychic mind.”

  She couldn’t tear her gaze away. What would it be like to watch him in the mirror as he touched her? To see him making love with her?

  “What are you saying, Keir?” she forced herself to ask, although she was barely listening to him. All she could hear was the sound of their passion. Would he moan? Did he whisper during lovemaking, or would he talk to her, arousing her with dark words and heated innuendos?

  She would want him to talk, she realized. To tell her all the things she needed to hear; all the things she’d heard him say to her in her dreams.

  “By calming your mind,” he whispered into her ear, “you might be able to see the future, or to have visions of past or present events.”

  “Can’t you do it yourself?”

  She saw in the mirror’s reflection how Keir’s gaze strayed to the quartz nestled between her breasts. “What I want to do, I cannot do by myself. I have come to believe it may be possible to walk through dimensions, say to the past, and thus change that past. What if, by traveling back in time, we could undo our sins, and change our fate?”

  The look in his eyes was now haunted. There was a flicker in the reflection. She glanced up and saw that Keir’s eyes were no longer silver but an odd shade of white, the irises replaced with a brilliant light that drew her in.

  “Will you help me?” he asked, hypnotizing her with that brilliant gaze. “Act as my portal and help me find what I’m searching for. Perhaps through me you will learn to have control over your powers. And then together we can find a way to save you.”

  She felt her will was suddenly not her own as she stared into the mirror. “Keir,” she said nervously, her nails digging into his arms, “I don’t want to do this.”

  “What do you see?” he asked, ignoring her protests. “What do you feel?”

  “Frightened.”

  He squeezed her and lowered his head to her ear, keeping his gaze locked on hers in the mirror. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I won’t ever let you go.”

  But she knew at some point she would die, and any friendship they had would be gone. Who was she to deny him this one favor? He’d done a lot for her, and that was something she wasn’t going to ignore.

  “For me, Rowan? Please. Just try it once.”

  “Tell me what to do.”

  “Keep looking into the mirror. Allow your fear to go and know that I’ll keep you safe. Wherever you go, I’ll be there with you.”

  Looking into the mirror—at him—wasn’t the problem. It was letting her fears go. She wasn’t one to drop her guard, but she wanted to do this for Keir, and maybe, then, she would discover something about herself. Hopefully it wouldn’t be depressing.

  Holding Keir’s gaze, she absorbed the feel of his strong arms around her. Slowly she began to match her breathing to his and let her mind empty of her racing thoughts. The quartz nestled between her breasts began to heat and glow.

  Without conscious thought, Rowan held out her arms and placed her palms o
n the glass. Her body jolted, and Keir held her tighter, whispering into her ear, but she didn’t hear a thing. The mirror seemed to pull her in, and she let it. This was the journey she had agreed to take. And true to his word, Keir was right behind her, holding her, anchoring her to him.

  As if having an out-of-body experience, Rowan saw herself step into the mirror and through a vortex that was a kaleidoscope of bright colors.

  Once the spinning stopped, she found herself in the middle of a forest. The trees were leafless, and the sky above was the deep steel gray of winter. Before her, a man lay prone. His face was pressed into a thin blanket of snow that covered the ground. His bare hands were outstretched, as if he had fallen flat on his face. He was wearing jeans, black boots, and a long black wool coat. He wasn’t moving.

  She looked back, toward the portal through which she had entered this world, and saw herself with Keir. His arms were still around her, and he was peering intently into the mirror. She saw her own body, held securely in his arms. It was then she understood what had happened to her—astral projection. She had no idea she was capable of such a feat.

  She turned back to the man on the ground and gently toed his hand with the tip of her shoe, searching for any signs of life—nothing.

  She took a step back and nearly screamed as his hand suddenly grabbed her ankle. He was awake. And oh, God, he was moving toward her, using her ankle as leverage as he dragged himself closer.

  The man made no sound as he heaved his upper body up from the cold ground. Slowly, his dark head rose, until she caught a glimpse of strong lips and a masculine jaw. The wind gusted, blowing his long hair away from his face.

  She swayed, swallowed hard, and took a step back, just as he got to his feet and unfurled his tall body. He was now standing before her, a little unsteady, but his gaze clear. She gulped, taking in his face and the beautiful eyes glistening down at her.

  She had never seen anyone like him. The entire left side of his face was tattooed with strange symbols, the sprawling marks covering his forehead, his eyelid, his cheek, all the way down to his mouth, where the corner of his lips bore the same strange marks.

  She glanced at his face and felt her body tremble at the sight.

  It was as if someone had drawn an imaginary line directly down the front of his face, purposely destroying half his beauty, while leaving the other side unmarred, a side he would have to confront every time he looked in the mirror. A side that silently whispered, “This is how I used to be.”

  He said nothing, just continued to look down into her face with those mesmerizing eyes of his. A shadow shifted against the trees, and her gaze darted to it. There were wings. The man’s shoulders shifted, and so, too, did the shadow behind him.

  Rowan reached out to touch him but pulled back at the last moment. The clouds above parted, allowing the smallest bit of moonlight into the forest that surrounded them. Its glow revealed what Rowan secretly feared; the marks on the angel’s face were the same symbols as those on Keir’s body.

  “My God, who are you?” she asked.

  He took a step toward her, reaching for her. “You have the look of her.”

  “Who?”

  “Your mother.”

  Rowan swallowed hard and allowed his long fingers to graze her cheek. “And wh-who are you?”

  The vision began to fade, and Rowan felt her body pulled back toward the mirror. He reached for her, and their hands and fingers just missed each other. But she heard his voice, whispering all around her.

  “I am your future.”

  She shook her head. No, it couldn’t be. Would this be the angel to take her when she died? A butterfly, its wings a startling combination of white and electric blue, flittered between them. The angel caught it in his palm and uncurled his fingers, showing her the beautiful creature.

  “You hold the key.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered, glancing at the butterfly’s flickering wings. “I have nothing. I don’t know anything about a key.”

  “The key to the Sacred Trine. The Healer, the Nephillim, the Oracle,” he said to her. “Two born of the same womb, but not of the same man. Keep this knowledge safe.”

  The vision ended, and Rowan was sucked backward, straight through the mirror, where her soul slammed back into her body.

  “Welcome back,” Keir whispered.

  “Oh my God,” Rowan gasped as she saw the blue and white butterfly seated on her shoulder. “What the hell just happened?”

  “I believe we have just discovered a powerful ally in this prophecy.”

  “The angel?”

  “No. You.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Rhys had no idea what time it was, because he’d slept for hours after the wolf and his goddess had left him. He was thirsty and sore, and more than a bit curious about the world he now found himself in.

  He’d managed to sit up, and thankfully his head had stopped spinning and his stomach stopped lurching. He was hungry, but there was nothing in the cottage to eat or drink. Hell, he had no idea what they even ate in Annwyn. Berries and leaves? He laughed to himself. With the size of Bran and Keir, Rhys doubted there was nothing but berries on the menu.

  Did he dare try to get himself outside? His gut told him no. Soon his goddess would come back to him. Then he would question her, and he would have his answers. She would not save him, only to promptly abandon him.

  Propping himself up by the massive stone hearth, Rhys glanced down at his body. He was naked, his thighs streaked with dirt and dried blood. His chest, however, had been washed, and some green putty-type shit was covering his wounds. He had to admit that the stuff felt good, and, as he began peeling it off, he saw how his skin was beginning to heal beneath the paste.

  Bringing a chunk of the paste to his nose, he inhaled. It was organic, the smell of pine and plant and earth. That didn’t surprise him. The inhabitants of Annwyn practiced the Druid ways, and the Druids believed that every living thing, from the smallest leaf to the largest animal, held its own living spirit. The Druids used herbs in their healing, their ceremonies, and their magic. Rhys had been told of the ancient ways but had never seen them in practice. Now he was a recipient of those ways.

  Speaking of magick, Rhys wondered where the hell Keir was. Rhys had been certain the wraith would have appeared on the cottage doorstep eons ago. He had even sent out a mental search for him, but there was nothing—no connection at all; just quiet.

  Sighing, Rhys rested his head and closed his eyes. He was royally fucked if the goddess had decided to abandon him. He could tell the cottage wasn’t used very often, and the likelihood that someone would stumble across him wasn’t very good—someone who would help him, at least. Cailleach, on the other hand, might very well appear before him, ready to kill him.

  He was close to dozing off again when the latch on the door clicked. His skin flickered, and he prepared to fight the intruder as he watched the door slowly creak open.

  In the threshold stood his goddess. Her gaze, alarmed, flew from the empty pallet to the wall, where he saw relief flash in her blue eyes.

  “I’m still here,” he said quietly. “But I began to wonder if you would come back.”

  She said nothing, just turned and closed the door. On her shoulder was a bag, and she walked to the worn wooden table and set it down. Opening it, she set the contents on the table.

  Rhys watched her work. This was the first time he had seen her through clear eyes, without the drug clouding his mind. His erotic hallucinations were not exaggerated. She was beautiful, and her body was stunning, all fine curves and high breasts. Her hair was up today, exposing the back of her neck, which, of course, made him think of coming up behind her and running his lips over her downy skin.

  “What is your name?” he asked as he moved his hand lower to cover his cock. There was no need for her to see him in this state—at least not yet.

  She didn’t answer, and he asked in a louder voice, which still got no reply. But she
did turn to him, her hands full of food and a flask.

  Kneeling before him, she ignored his nudity and held out a loaf of bread to him. He noticed there were cheese and fruit as well.

  It wasn’t a double Big Mac combo, but it would do. He was starved. “Thank you.”

  She nodded and looked at him expectantly. Rhys didn’t know how he was going to eat with an erection. He was also starting to get a little uncomfortable with the one-sided conversation.

  She nudged the bread at him, and Rhys accepted it, spreading the cloth it had been wrapped in on his lap to cover himself. Then he broke the bread apart and began eating. It was warm and soft, and nothing had tasted better. Grabbing a piece of cheese, he devoured it, then the berries. She passed him the flask, and he took a big drink of the cold water.

  She watched him for a few seconds, then began to assemble some bottles and jars she had placed on the dirt floor behind her. She worked quietly and methodically. Chewing the bread as he silently watched her, he wondered.

  Finally, he asked, “Do you not speak?”

  She shook her head that she did not.

  “But you hear?”

  She nodded. Rhys was disappointed, because he would have liked to have heard her voice, but it didn’t lessen his desire for her or his certainty that they were meant to be together. They would just have to find other ways to communicate.

  As he ate, she began tending his wounds. With a warm cloth, she washed the remainder of the paste away, leaving the reddened and raised scars on his chest. Carefully she touched one wound—an inverted pentagram—and looked up at him, questioning him with the tilt of her head.

  “Artwork courtesy of the Dark Mage. I had the misfortune to run into him in the Cave of Cruachan.”

  He saw in her eyes that she understood. She went back to work on his chest, cleaning and rubbing his wounds with lotions that had him smelling like a pine forest. The medicine stung for a few seconds, but the stinging was quickly replaced with a cool tingling that neutralized the burning he felt from the wounds.